Unwilling Paradox
by Proof of Repair
Summary: Kanda remembers percent, remembers how, how fifty is half of a hundred, and if you have anything above fifty percent of something, nobody can have more than you. RK drabbles.
1. Fake

Just… a bunch of LaviYuu. Some friendship. Some romance. Some utterly cracktastic.

Because it doesn't get enough love. Series of drabbles, snapshots, etc. UnBETAed.

_When you smiled, he smiled_

_When you cried, he cried_

_And when you withered and spoke in soft tones;_

'_I think I'm dying'_

_He pressed your hand to his chest_

_Where a heart didn't beat_

_And replied_

'_Then join me'_

**Fake**

He hates him.

But the way they portray things outwardly, anyone will say it's the other way around. It's not true.

Lavi _hates_ him.

He hates those black tresses and those cold grayish blue eyes, he hates that triumphant smirk that will grace his pale lips when he's pleased with something or taunting someone—whichever.

But what the redhead hates most of all is that he's the only one that wasn't ever (_ever, not in a million fucking years and then some_) convinced.

He never took in the too-brilliant smiles or the forced laughs or the attempts of the eye-patch sporting Bookman's apprentice to be happy, hearty and whole—because Kanda knew all too well that he was far, far from it (_a million starlit miles, too far to reach because yes he bledbroke__**felt**__ just like everyone else did_).

The reason Kanda glares at him so icily whenever they're in the same room is because he knows Lavi's faking (_he can see right through to where he's transparent, more of an open book than anything the to-be-Bookman's ever read_). And the reason the redhead tries and tries and _tries_ so hard to be his happiest and most teasing around him is to somehow convince him that maybe, maybe it's not fake.

Kanda Yuu was many things, but not stupid.

And Lavi despised being figured out when everything was supposed to be a convincing lie.


	2. Name

To all of those who reviewed—once again, thank you kindly. I really wasn't expecting much of a response; but four is more than I was hoping for. A special thanks to _Crimson Vixen_ in particular for her insightful review.

xxxholic inspired. Yuuko taunting Watanuki is too fun, especially when he spazzed about her "getting too familiar".

UnBETAed.

Enjoy.

_Fluff… ish_

**Name**

It was summer when he first laid eyes on the Japanese teen. Granted, he'd nearly mistook him for a girl, but seeing as he'd had his torso bound with bandages and was only wearing a pair of black pants, that was overruled.

Being Bookman's apprentice, he was quick at gathering information; whether by eavesdropping silently or asking the odd question or two. Thus, it wasn't long before he gathered all general information.

The icy-eyed boy's name was Kanda Yuu (as it would be presented in Japanese, with the surname first). Sixteen; Lavi's age— apparently he'd been kept under training with General Froi Teidoll for five years before joining the Order, and reasons as to why were unknown. As for before that; the adolescent was from Edo—rather unfortunate, considering it was quickly becoming a full-fledged Akuma breeding ground.

Ever thirsty for knowledge, it wasn't long thereafter that the redhead approached the pale teen during breakfast the next morning. It wasn't too hard to find him, considering he was sitting by himself… and for good reason; the murderous aura resonating from him was enough to make any sane man cower.

But Lavi wasn't exactly what one would call sane. Or, at least, that's what "Lavi" (his forty-ninth persona) was _supposed_ to be like; he might as well get used to playing along.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked cheerfully, sporting a tray on which he balanced some scrambled eggs, sausages and toast.

He got a look colder than ice in response and its meaning should've been obvious, but deliberately playing dumb, he sat down anyways.

"You're Yuu, right?"

The boy before him nearly choked on what he was eating (some kind of noodle, Lavi guessed, and he always _had_ wondered how on Earth people managed to eat with chopsticks) and gave him an incredulous look.

"What did you just call me?"

His words had just a faint edge of an accent in them—it'd probably fade over time.

… He looked rather ticked off. Lavi thought it best not to screw around, but that was also part of this little role he was playing.

"Yuu. That's your name, right?"

The blackette looked at him blankly before glaring—Lavi caught the faintest hint of a flush in his face, but whether it was from anger, embarrassment or something else, he couldn't tell.

... That look didn't bode well for him. He'd heard that Yuu's Innocence was a sword (and it was strapped to his waist at the moment), and honestly, he'd rather not be introduced to it via violent means.

"Don't call me that."

"Then what _should_ I call you?"

Silence, and then;

"… Kanda."

The reply was direct; no wishy-washy dallying or anything of the sort. The redhead contemplated it for a moment, before pouting slightly.

"Yuu sounds softer, though. I think I prefer it."

"Call me that again and I'll rip out your precious voice box."

Ah. So he was getting a rise out of the Japanese teen now. _Interesting_.

"Why, Yuu? Does it bother you, _Yuu_?"

Kanda growled and his fingers closed over the hilt of the sword so dutifully at his side. The eye-patch sporting apprentice only chuckled nervously and decided to eat the rest of his breakfast in relative silence. By the time he was finished, however, he'd clapped Kanda on the shoulder and chimed "well, see ya later Yuu" and left about as quickly as he could walk without looking suspicious.

After all, Lavi did have some sense of self preservation.

-

Now, Lavi didn't think the name 'Yuu' sounded particularly girly or anything, maybe just less harsh than 'Kanda'. It still didn't make much sense to him as to why the black haired teen always threatened (and sometimes quite nearly carried out) a bloody, violent murder just for being called by his first name.

Confused, he found himself consulting the one person he knew was more than likely to know the answer: his mentor.

After getting a hit to the head for calling said mentor an 'old panda'; Lavi received the reply he'd been looking for: Japanese culture was distinct when it came to how people addressed one another, by means of honorifics and the like. One usually didn't use another's first name _directly_ and without an honorific unless they were family, a spouse, or an exceptionally close friend/lover/etc. The amount of embarrassment that came with being addressed as such directly when one doesn't know a person aside, it could also be seen as offensive.

No wonder he'd seen that flush on Kanda's face— either he'd been embarrassed, ticked off, or a combination of the two.

Come to think of it, _knowing_ why it made the grayish-blue eyed boy so enraged only encouraged Lavi further. It was kind of cute, in a weird way.

When he made his way into the cafeteria for dinner that night and sat down by Kanda as he normally did, he made a point to use his first name a lot more often than usual.

Most of the Order was amused when they saw Lavi running out of the large double doors; Kanda in pursuit with Mugen unsheathed and murder in his eyes.

_fin… ._

* * *


	3. Levels of Psychosis

Something different from me, and it may up the rating

Enjoy.

:X:

**Levels of Psychosis**

:X:

Kanda's completely psychotic.

Anybody else will deny it but Lavi knows better and always will. Of course, the redhead knows he's just as human as the next, composed of (_inkblood__**breath**_) muscle and bone, tissue, marrow, cells, **destructive**, but when he knows better _he knows better_.

Kanda is **beautiful**, Kanda is twisted and cold, Kanda is constantly on edge and for his guard to be down could count as a minor sign of the apocalypse, but what most people don't know is that _Kanda's fucking insane._

Of course, if he said that anyone would dismiss him with a wave of their hand and some comment on how you _have _to be insane to some degree to be an exorcist.

But that's not what Lavi means.

The bottle-green eyed young man has his own definition of psychosis. He'd take a glaring, pissed off Kanda over one with a grin so feral one could almost mistake him for something like a wolf (_dangerrun__**away**_) any day.

He will coo and croon and call out Kanda's given name any day, "_Y__**uu**_," but it will only earn him a snap and a glare and a threat of him being speared by Mugen in his sleep (_slashcut__**gut**_), and the flame haired boy knows just how sharp that fucking sword of his is and knows to run for his life when it **matters**.

But sometimes running isn't enough.

Lavi only rarely sees that spark in the Japanese man's eyes—when he pushes Kanda past the childish antics of name-calling and stolen kisses in the dark (_stiffunresponsive__**nonchalant**_), when he asks _too many fucking _questions and it gets Kanda backed into a wall and the only thing the gray-eyed teen can think of is getting through Lavi in order to get the **fuck** away.

Kanda's canines are so **sharp** when they dig into his neck, teeth leaving behind a circle of blood and kisses and _suction_, he might as well be a vampire (_sucklick__**shlup**_) because he _knows_ just how to get Bookman Junior to _shut his fucking face_ and all it takes is the cursed boy's sword-callused hands under Lavi's shirt and that demonic, perfectly in place grin.

The same one he gave _Skiin Bolic_ before sending him on a one way trip to **hell**.

As soon as those moments arise Lavi does what he rarely does; zips his lips and lets Kanda have his way, because if he doesn't the results would be disastrous (_ruinousdeadly__**cataclysmic**_) and really, he preferred being left with his body in one piece, no matter how many bruises and cuts he was left with thereafter.

Perfectly, completely, _totally off his rocker_.

And in a way, deep down Lavi knew he **loved** every second of it.

_fin_


	4. On the Subject of Friendship

This was... a college-AU of sorts I randomly wrote in response to another one. Kind of. Sort of.

My computer no longer has word, and Open Office's spell checker refuses to work for me. Thus, I've gotten stuck using online spell-checkers, which are hardly ever satisfactory. I apologize for any errors you might find.

Mild Lavi/Kanda.

On the Subject of Friendship

There's a good reason as to why Kanda Yuu thinks friends are a nuisance.

Friends are the reason he finds himself dragging his feet out of bed. Friends are the reason there's that inessesant ringing at his doorbell and knocking at his door.

Friends are why he's up at _three thirty in the fucking morning_.

He smells cigarettes, alcohol and girl's perfume on Lavi's body before his eyes can adjust to actually see him in the dark. Right around the time that slack grin comes his way with the redhead leaning against his doorframe, Kanda braces the body that falls forward to rest against his own.

A curse under his breath is all the gray-eyed teen can manage at this ungodly hour before helping his acquaintance (ally, counterpart, companion) inside however tempting it is to just leave him outside of his door to freeze to death in the chill January air. Lavi slurs a quiet thanks, and Kanda tells him to shut the fuck up and not open his mouth least he throw up on the carpet because dammit, he's only renting this apartment.

Lavi laughs, slightly hysterical and Kanda drags him into his bedroom before dumping the redhead on his lumpy excuse for a bed none too gracefully. There's nothing in Kanda's room, really, only the bare essentials. A bed, a closet to the side, a desk and a laptop charging atop of it beside a small picture frame; Kanda's familiar beaded bracelet rests beside it.

The redhead surveys the darker, fairer boy with an air of laziness. Kanda, God fuck it, still somehow manages to look good even when he's scowling, sleepy-eyed and dishevelled after just having pulled himself out of bed.

Somewhere around the time his drunken mind was mulling over this and Kanda began nodding off on his feet, Lavi's hands grasped his shoulders and pulled _down_ so the other joined him on the bed. Kanda's hands braced themselves against Lavi's chest in shock in order to keep distance (his reactions were slower than usual due to being so goddamn _tired_) but the bottle green eyed boy was ahead of him and had ended up wrapping his arms around Kanda's middle, pulling him in closer before flopping onto his back on the bed and taking his unwilling (and squirming) companion with him.

Kanda growls in warning and Lavi's eye is only half-open now as he pulls him in a little closer and tells him that really, it's far too early for any form of argument and it might just be better for both of them to sleep without objection.

Kanda tells him to fuck off and die, tiredly struggling against Lavi's (surprisingly) strong grip, but his shoulders slump when Lavi's laugh rings out again and he (grudgingly) accepts somewhere in his mind that it actually is too damn early.

He grumbles that he'll comply if Lavi lets the hell go of him and the redhead does.

Lavi coos a goodnight by his ear and Kanda snorts disapprovingly before pulling the blanket over his body, turning onto his side, facing away from Lavi and inching as close to the edge of the bed as he can get without falling off.

When he wakes up again it's noon and Lavi's arms are around him limply, his forehead resting against the back of Kanda's shoulder.

He decides to let the green eyed boy sleep a little longer.

_fin ..._


	5. Half

..: **half** :..

Kanda isn't one for academics.

Truthfully, he hates math. Hates numbers. Hates those goddamn dizzying equations and functions; finds the mere idea of volume, square roots and whatever the fuck else idiotic. The simplistic stuff he'll require in his life? He can put up with that. Everything else just seems like nonsense to him.

Thus, Lavi is nonsense.

Lavi is forty nine.

Kanda remembers percent-- remembers how, how fifty is half of a hundred, and if you have anything above fifty percent of something, nobody can have more than you.

Fifty is equal-footing.

Fifty is half-way.

And maybe the Junior Bookman won't ever actually have one hundred identities in his lifetime, but the idea of the end of forty nine, the end of Lavi, feels like a bridge that, once crossed, will be torn asunder and leave an uncrossable rift behind.

The idea of fifty makes Kanda think of half.

Halfway to becoming a Bookman.

And forty nine? Forty nine leaves hope, maybe, just maybe, a small shred of humanity. Forty nine gives the feeling that he could, Lavi could, fall short of Bookman. Lavi could spare himself-- spare this persona. Let it live and thrive.

Of course, the idiotic apprentice will still look the same, he supposes. The same red, red hair, kelly-green eye, and those lips, warm, warm, always insatiable lips that sported that lazy, all-knowing grin whenever the redhead was _so sure_ of himself. Lavi was that annoying humming, ink-stained fingertips and warm, warm arms, arms around his neck, his waist, his middle, but the others aren't going to be.

Forty nine falls short.

But fifty, fifty one, and fifty two won't.

_fin . . ._


End file.
